Seeker of Memories
by Wavecrest
Summary: He's a wizard, a voice is in his head and he's got amnesia. While seeking answers, he meets people claiming they care and not long to mull over the changes that have been wrought upon him, due to Voldemort and the Ministry. Isn't being Harry Potter fun?
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

He was a wizard.

He opened his eyes, blinked several times, and made a face as he tasted dirt. It was still dark, but not nearly as dark as when his eyes had been closed. There was a scattering of stars overhead and a bright full moon. It felt warm, very much so, and the smell of the forest and blood were in the air and there were long weeds all around him, including around his hand that held a wand.

He propped himself up on his elbows and took a look around. He could see what looked like two bodies near him. It was then that his stomach rumbled.

_What are those things?_

He didn't know. He moved a bit closer and saw that, despite the two bodies' humanoid shape, they weren't human. They were about three metres high, and were covered in dark hooded cloaks of long, ripped cloth. He used his wand to move the hoods a bit from the creatures and he made a face. The creatures had gray, skeleton-like, decayed-looking bodies while their faces had nothing but a large hole where the mouth should have been.

_Ah. Dementors. _

What were they? A name didn't help him much.

_Dementors are Dark creatures but can be useful. They feed off human happiness, and thus cause depression and despair to anyone near them. They can also consume a person's soul, leaving their victims in a permanent vegetative state._

Oh good.

Wait.

Was he talking to a voice in his head?

Well... he _was_ hungry. Perhaps that was messing up his mind. But where could he get food? Where was he? Could this be his home? He stretched and stood. Maybe he would see some landmarks or something to see where he was.

All he saw were cottages in the distance, obviously a small village, but he didn't recognize it. Great. Lovely. He had no idea where he was.

That was when the wizard realized something: he knew what he was but he didn't know _who_ he was. There was nothing there, no home, no him, _nothing. _No memories, just one big hole.

Well, he still remembered technical things. That was something good.

_Each wizarding governing body is responsible for the concealment, care and control of all magical beasts, beings, and spirits dwelling within its territory's borders. Should any such creature cause harm to, or draw the notice of, the Muggle community, that nation's wizarding governing body will be subject to discipline by the International Confederation of Wizards. This is the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. It supposedly safeguards the wizarding community from Muggles, and hides their presence from the world at large._

So if anyone not in the knew saw these bodies, he would attract attention?

_Yes. We must move fast._

He shut his eyes. He didn't remember anything about himself but he still remembered so many magic spells that it was mind-boggling. But even if he was insane, the voice in his head made sense. They had to move fast.

Wait, had he just referred to them in the plural?

_Yes?_

Well, it wasn't a lie. He wasn't alone, even if it was a voice in his head.

_Get a move on!_

He rolled his eyes, thinking strongly about impatient voices, and Transfigured the bodies into bones and buried them under the weeds.

He walked for a bit and found a well, the full moon reflecting off the water in it. He looked into it.

_This is how we look? We're shabby!_

He was inclined to agree. They were a skinny, black-haired with white streaks, bespectacled boy who had the pinched, slightly unhealthy look of someone who had grown a lot in a short space of time. His jeans were torn and dirty, his T-shirt baggy and faded, and the soles of their trainers were peeling away from the uppers.

Could someone like him really have taken out those Dementors? They sure didn't look very threatening...

For all of a split second he thought about trying to think of himself in only the singular sense, but it didn't work. He knew something else was there with him, was part of him, and somehow he had accepted it with an ease he was sure he wouldn't have if he could recall his life from before this moment.

They drank a bit of the water from the well and continued his walk into the village. It wasn't a long walk, about fifteen minutes, and he noticed many of the lights in the cottages they passed were turned off. So it was late enough for everyone to be asleep.

His instincts were practically playing Quidditch with his mind, telling him to run, hide, fight, find, tell... but nothing else. Run to where? Hide from what? Fight who? Find _what_? Tell _who!_

His instincts were not helping at all. Actually, that wasn't completely true. They told him he liked Quidditch very much, because his goal seemed very much to him like finding the Golden Snitch in the very busy and active Quidditch field. He had to find himself, his past, in the labyrinth of his mind.

_Very eloquent. Next we shall creating soliloquies. _

He chuckled. The Golden Snitch was his memory. They were the Seeker hunting through all the activity for the thing that he wanted.

_Wards._

He looked. Ah, yes, the pub was warded, meaning it was a magical place. Good. The bartender, an older man in black trousers and a black shirt, looked up when they entered. The place was very dark and shabby. A few old people were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of something. He didn't really care, instead just walking up to the bartender.

"... How can I help you?" The man asked, looking at them with a slight squint.

_Get a bloody light and it might help._

"Just a room."

The man's eyes seemed to flicker up to his forehead, as if looking for something. Did the man know him? "For you? Ten galleons."

_The gold ones are Galleons, seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle._

"Here you are," he said, handing over ten gold coins from a pouch they had in his pocket.

"There you are, room ten." The bartender handed him a key, still looking at him strangely.

Should he ask if the man knew him?

_No. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt._

He went upstairs and looked around at the dusty room, making a face. _"Terego,"_ he said simply. They yawned and collapsed on the bed and fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

Food.

That was their first thought when he woke up. The second was that they were happy to be in a bed and still have a soul. The third was that they still no idea who they were.

He shut his eyes, focusing for a bit, trying to calm his thoughts and... well, meditate would be the closest word to it.

It still was a black hole. Nothing.

Afterward a few attempts of calling back their memory, he stared at the ceiling, and went back to their first thought.

Food sounded really good right about now. But would anyone notice he hadn't changed clothes or anything? He rolled out of the bed, causing them to tilt his head.

He had slept with the wand in his hand.

Were they that paranoid? It was an interesting observation, and they did not want to leave the wand behind, even though he was just going to the bathroom.

Well, why not just follow instincts?

They entered the bathroom, used the toilet and then showered, using the items that were thoughtfully provided. Afterwards, he stared at their outfit from the day before as he wrapped the towel around himself.

_Transfigure them?_

It seemed as good an idea as any, but perhaps a cleaning charm first.

_Good idea._

He cast the cleaning charm and noticed that the lingering dirt and the like was soon gone. He transfigured the dirty and torn jeans into black trousers and the baggy and faded t-shirt turned into a white, normal fitting one. The shoes...

_Perhaps a new pair, since even magic can't save these._

The loud growl from their stomach made them jump. Right then, perhaps it was time to find food. He brushed his teeth and was combing his hair when something caught their eyes.

_Strange scar. Like a lightning bolt._

He rubbed it a few times, as if touching it might help him remember. It didn't, not a single idea as to their identity. And yet...

Yet they had the strangest urge to cover the scar. He did so, making sure his bangs covered it. Right now, they were operating on automatic and they knew it, so why fight instincts? Life was already complicated enough.

He sighed and put on his freshly altered clothes before they left the bathroom.

He inspected their money. It wasn't too bad, definitely enough for some splurging. And for food. Oh yes, they were quite eager for food. A simple wave of the wand made the bed and he put their shoes and and entered the pub area. Even in the daytime it was very dark and looked a bit shabby, with that elderly bartender awake.

"Morning," he said politely to the old man. "Do you have breakfast?"

The man gave him that strange look again.

_It's daylight and you still can't see old man? Acquire better glasses!_

They smiled.

"It's actually lunch time," the bartender said, indicating a clock that they had not seen.

He made a face, "Can we have lunch then? I'm quite famished."

The bartender's eyes flickered up to his forehead. They knew all he would see was their hair and so were not concerned. The man eventually asked, "Is shepherd's pie okay?"

"That is fine. With pumpkin juice, please?"

"Coming right up. Go take a seat."

That sounded good to him and they took a newspaper and sat. He flipped through the newspaper, tilting his head.

_Wow, standards are really bad._

He nodded, not really caring what anyone thought about him doing so. This Albus Dumbledore was sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards. The implication in the article was that he was growing senile and things of that nature. And there had been an accident involving a wizard that had to go to St. Mungo's and the article stated, 'lets hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next, just like Harry Potter.'

The elderly bartender entered with their food and saw the article. He made a face. "That's rubbish," He said, shaking his head."The Daily Prophet has been going downhill all summer, not Dumbledore. I would cancel the subscription if my customers didn't read it. It's idiotic."

"What's happened?"

"Well, you wouldn't know. You're just a kid, probably ignore the news all the time." The bartender gave them a smile to show that the comment wasn't meant to be insulting. "Well, Dumbledore, him right there," and the man indicated the person in the photo.

Albus Dumbledore was tall and thin, with silver hair and beard so long that they could easily be tucked into his belt. He had a very long and crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken at least twice and wore half-moon spectacles. He was simply nodding and leaving what looked like the Wizengamot's courtroom.

"He's been saying You-Know-Who is back. It makes sense, honestly. Anyone with half a brain knew that You-Know-Who would come back one day. Unfortunately, people are being stupid in the Ministry and trying to deny it, but if Dumbledore says he's back, then he's back. Insulting him and Harry Potter after all they've done..."

"You seem defensive. Do you know them?"

The elderly man chuckled, "Kind of hard not to be for us locals, I guess. They're both from here."

"Oh." A pause. "From here?"

Perhaps he could learn where they had managed to end up, at least.

"Indeed, young man. Wouldn't expect so many famous things to come from little Godric's Hollow, right?" The man chuckled and went to help another customer that had just entered. They ate the shepherd's pie and perked up. It was utterly delicious and the bartender had given them a _huge_ serving. The pumpkin juice was delicious and, satisfied, he paid for the meal and they left a tip.

Now what?

_Godric's Hollow, the man said. Let's look around._

They did just that, leaving the pub. He passed more cottages and then the little lane along which he was walking on curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.

There was what looked like a war memorial in the middle. There were several shops, a post office, a non-magical pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square thanks to the sun.

He walked through the square and as they passed the war memorial, it transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother's arms.

He stared at the man with untidy hair and glasses, disturbed.

_Is that us? But we are not that old or married, are we?_

He looked at his hands-there was no wedding band. Perhaps he was just related to the people the statue immortalized. That would explain a lot about him being here in this village, wouldn't it? They didn't seem to belong here, but if he had family here...

_Names. Look, there's a bit on here._

He looked.

**James and Lily Potter, and their infant son, Harry. **

_So... What did these people do?_

He had no idea. Whatever it was, obviously it had to be well known... wait. Harry Potter, he had read that name, in the newspaper.

_But that man looks too much like us. It is not a coincidence._

That was true as well. He hoped that was the case. If so, then maybe there was something else in the village that might tell them what the Potters were famous for. That could help them just a little bit, maybe, with finding out information about himself.

He walked up another row of houses and raised an eyebrow; there was a dark mass that stood at the very end of the row. The village was picture-esque and they were pretty sure a mass like that would've been fixed by Muggles if they could see it. So that might be a site that could help.

The hedge was wild and rubble lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in the dark ivy, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart. He stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

They shrugged and grasped thickly rusted gate, thinking that he might find answers inside even though it didn't look safe, and jumped back. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

_On this spot, on this night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family_.

All around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages.

They read the sign once more, but there was still nothing to help them.

_Frustrating._

Yes it was, at that.

1981 was this incident had happened. He jogged through the village, hunting around until they finally found a tiny little library. Muttering a few spells, he soon found a few magical books. They quickly grabbed one on major events.

They ran to the bathroom after reading the entry about Halloween in 1981.

It was still there, just as it had been this morning. It was still there, blindingly obvious with him holding back their hair. The lightning bolt scar, one that, according to what they had read, only one person had.

The lightning bolt scar that was on the forehead of the famous Harry Potter.

_Oh bloody hell. _

Yeah. They hadn't seen that one coming.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

He stayed in the library for a few hours getting confirmation of the fact that somehow they were Harry Potter. But everything seemed to confirm it: the scar, the emerald eyes, the messy hair...

_But it makes no sense. How are we alone?_

It was a valid question. Amnesia could account for some things, but the being alone and here for over a day? For goodness sakes, he was famous, right? _Someone_ had to be looking for him!

But they had a name. They were Harry James Potter. They had turned fifteen at the end of July. They lived with Muggle relatives.

Yet nobody here seemed to be looking for him. Therefore, it was easy to deduce that they were not residents of Godric's Hollow.

A growl from his stomach and the teenager sighed.

"Excuse me, young man?" the librarian said, coming over. "We're closing now. Is there anything you would like to take out?"

Harry shook his head, looking over the books, "We... I... don't have a library card."

"Oh, that? Come along then, we can make time for _that_." The librarian, whose name tag read 'Ms. Margaret,' was a short older woman with gray hair and warm brown eyes. She seemed full of energy and they could feel it throughout the library. It seemed to teem with age and joy in the service of others.

He managed to make up a few bits of information, grateful that it wasn't exactly checked. Maybe their magic helped with that? But soon he was able to leave with some books and a library card in his name. It was still rather early and they didn't know what to do.

Margaret looked at the name at the card and back up at him. "You're Harry Potter?"

He nodded.

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

Another nod.

"Don't have anything to do?" the librarian asked as she closed up behind them.

"No madam," they replied, holding the borrowed books.

"Hm..." She looked him up and down. "Well, the apothecary is in a bit of a tight spot right now. The usual workers are on vacation or things of that nature. Tell Stacy that I sent you, she'll think of something for a young man like you to do. Go on now."

"Yes madam. Thank you." Harry nodded and trotted around, soon finding the apothecary. A woman was waiting for them.

"So you're the famous Harry Potter," she said, looking him up and down.

They knew they were scruffy. Should they apologize?

"Well... y-yes?"

She looked him up and down once more before giving him a smile, "Well, least I know what level you're at. Now Aunt Margaret said you needed things to do. I suppose the least I can do is offer you a job here for the summer, heaven knows we need the help."

"Really?" They were pleased. A job meant money and perhaps they could then buy some things like better shoes.

Stacy led the way, "This is an apothecary. We have our own little garden in the back." They went out to it. It was very large with many plants. "It's enchanted so the Muggles don't see. On the roof we've got a little greenhouse that's enchanted too, that's where we grow things that aren't in season. Then I'll need you to clean. We don't really use magic to clean here, some of the plants don't react well to cleaning spells," Stacy explained. "Then there's the sorting of supplies and brewing potions, of course. So far it's just been me, my workers have all been out."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Harry said, liking the idea. "It will keep us busy."

"You bet it will," the woman said with a laugh. "We do excellent business with all the tourists too. You'll be busy."

They would be paid 100 Galleons weekly, and the day would begin at 7am and end at 7pm. Work would begin tomorrow. As they returned to the pub, a sign on the bulletin board caught his eye.

_Self-Defense Lessons? 8:30 every week night?_

It seemed interesting and helpful. He wasn't of age, so using magic wasn't always an option.

_True! Okay. Let's look. We shall work hard and learn fast._

Harry nodded. Yes, they would. Their survival might rely on it.

They found their way to the little community center that played host to the self-defense lessons. The person that hosted it was strict but still nice. It was hard work, since the man made them work out first by stretching and the like. But they made sure to observe and were able to duplicate every move after a few tries.

It was a tiring night, but he had learned a little bit in just one night so they knew that they would learn more as time went on. They went back to the pub and ate before collapsing onto the bed.

The night was full of strange dreams of corridors and hallways and graveyards and green light. Was that an Avada Kedavra spell? They thought it might be so.

His days were busy. During lunch time they would eat a sandwich and visit the library. A few times they sat in front of his parents' tomb.

He still remembered nothing, but sometimes, eating their sandwich in the cemetery and reading his book, they felt calm. There were odd days where he would have strange pains in his head, but they had begun to fade. The same with the strange dreams about the corridors, though the odd dreams about the graveyard hadn't.

Two weeks they had been working. It showed. He had a few outfits now, and _new shoes!_ They loved the feel of the shoes, and would often run. They were hard workers, leaving Stacy very pleased with them. They were also fast learners, moving along at what the self-defense teacher said was a rapid pace. Ms. Margaret said he was going to finish all of the books in the library at the rate they were reading.

Harry rubbed his hands with a cleaning potion to get the dragon dung fertilizer off of them. It was very nearly lunch time and the day was pleasant. They had a sweat band to help when they worked and so he entered the shop, seeing Stacy with a customer.

"The garden is tended," he said to her.

The customer whirled when he spoke, staring at them. He was a tall thin man with sallow skin and a large, hooked nose. He had shoulder-length, greasy black hair which framed his face in curtains. He had a thin-lipped, sneering mouth and made Harry wonder if he had just come from a funeral, since he was all dressed in black.

"Potter?" He demanded, staring at Harry.

"Professor Snape?" Stacy sounded confused.

Snape ignored her, glaring at Harry, "Have you been here all this time?"

"What?" Harry asked, looking at him. Could it be happening? Had someone from their past found him? "Do we know you?" It was a question asked with eagerness. They had found links to the past but no people. No associates. But it would make sense if someone older, knew them, wouldn't it? They had already noticed that he seemed to identify with older people better than the idiots that were their age in the village. But they had wondered these past few days, since nobody seemed to know them, nobody seemed to be looking for him...

"Do you know-_boy!_" Snape snarled, furious. "Do you think you're funny? Do you think this is some joke?"

"Professor!" Stacy slammed her hand down. "Harry has worked here for a bit now! What are you talking about?"

The man, this Snape, gave her the briefest of glares before turning back to them, his black eyes boring into their own.

_He is a Legilimens!_ _Get out of our mind!_

Harry agreed, feeling as if he had just slammed a door on someone. Now they were not amused, but the Snape man looked surprised.

"Stacy, we are going to lunch," they snarled, turning and leaving. They were angry. Why would this man come and yell at them? They had just been telling Stacy that the garden was fine!

_Those bloody papers! That must be why!_

Perhaps, but why would someone care so much about the newspapers slandering him? The man had really been angry! Had they offended him somehow?

They got their sandwich and walked to the cemetery to read and eat their lunch.

"POTTER!" A hand grabbed them by the shoulder and turned him. Snape again, and he was looking angry still.

Instinct took over. They used their book on the man's elbow, using the spine of the thick book and all their strength to slam it upwards. Done incorrectly, it would bruise. Done correctly, it could break the man's arm.

They made sure it had been done correctly.

Snape let him go, gasping and grabbing his arm. Harry kicked him hard, making the man fall. Snapping their fingers, they made sure nobody would hear or see them. "Who are you?" They demanded. "Why do you not like us?"

"Us?" The man demanded, staring at Harry with utter disdain. "Using the royal we now, Potter? Just as arrogant as your father, always! You runaway attention seeking brat!"

They had run away? Why would they do that? Seeking attention? But they had not done that. In fact... he had made sure to remain _unseen_, to _not_ draw attention. They had distinctly thought of it as a bad thing. Could he have been different before?

_No. Memories, they come and go, but personality... that remains. That is who we are. This man does not feel right. _

And now that Harry thought more on it, this man, Snape, did not feel right.

_Inspection?_

Wise to do. Watch first, act later. Harry took the man's wand without saying a word, causing Snape to curse a bit at him and sit up, trying to fix the broken arm.

They kicked him in the ribs, making him fall once more. This was not a time to be gentle. Harry used his wand to inspect the man, using a few spells.

_He's dark._

And he was. The spell was pinpointing Snape's left arm. Harry used the wand to wordlessly lift the left sleeve of the man's robes. There was an odd tattoo on it: a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.

_The Dark Mark._

Harry had read about their past. Voldemort, a Dark Lord, wanted him dead. They had read the newspapers and had deduced that Voldemort had returned yet people did not wish to believe it. So they would slander the people telling the truth instead.

_That does not explain why we were alone._

No, it didn't It left a lot of unanswered questions. But now one of Voldemort's people was here.

"All right, Death Eater," Harry said, looking at Snape. His face was devoid of emotion, Harry knew; they were keeping a blank slate. And his voice, they could have been talking about the weather. "Let's talk. You want us dead. Your Lord wants us dead. So give us one good reason you should leave Godric's Hollow alive."

Snape looked at him, his black eyes focused. Finally, he said, slowly, "... Potter, what's happened to you since August 2nd?"

"It is August 16th," Harry answered. "I have been here."

"And that day?"

_We shall not reveal weakness to an enemy._

"We do not appreciate your attempt at distraction."

"It isn't distraction. We've been looking for you for the past two weeks. If you didn't run away, then how did you get here?"

"You accuse us... me... of speaking strangely but you do the same," Harry noticed the odd look, one that seemed surprised, flicker across Snape's face.

"We... are a group," Snape said slowly.

"Yes," Harry said, indicating Snape's left arm. "It's obvious you are part of a group. And it's obvious that group would love that you have found... me."

"I'm not... it isn't that group."

"Isn't that what something like you would claim?" Harry knew that it was dangerous to leave this man out, to let him leave Godric's Hollow.

_No. No Dark magic. _

The idea of using a spell to kill made him feel sick. Perhaps because of his parents? Their distaste may have carried over. He felt a pang, a pain, that the thought of murder had crossed their mind.

"It isn't-" Snape began.

"_Obliviate."_ Harry said, before the man could realize what they had done. They healed the man, dropped Snape's wand next to him, planting a memory of the man having tripped over a tree root that was nearby and then Harry left quickly, making sure they stayed out of sight for the rest of the day. It was risky, the man might notice his memory was a bit odd, but it was better than killing him. And hopefully he wasn't the curious sort.

But if Snape was a curious man, they would just do it again.

_But perhaps a disguise or something. If they are looking for Harry Potter, perhaps we should not be him for the rest of summer._

Partially agreeing with that thought, Harry shook his head. Their identity was already established. A disguise now was too late. They just had to keep on their toes.

And make sure that they did not reveal that nothing before August 2nd was known to them. It was an advantage any enemy would love, holding times gone by. They could not trust anyone without proof, not yet. Anyone could claim friendship.

Be wary. Be on guard and cautious.

If this encounter with Snape was any indication, that caution might save their life. Nodding at that, Harry went back to the apothecary. Soon, his day returned to normal.

A few hours later, they were asleep in the pub. And then they were not.

A strange sound had awoken them.

It was unusual. He didn't know what it was or where it had come from, but it had awoken them. Harry immediately left the bed and moved next to the door, making sure a disillusionment charm was cast on himself. He was crouched on the floor, listening.

Nothing.

_Trust our instincts._

Yes. It was good advice. Harry put on clothes quickly, as well as shoes and then, slowly, Harry cast a ward on the door, something basic and elementary. It was just to slow whomever it could be down for a few moments. They did the same to the window and entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind them.

Harry looked around the bathroom and cast a charm on the vent inside of it, pulling out the grate and pulling it silently behind him.

_Move._

Harry complied, silent. He had reached the other end of the shaft, which led to what they knew was an empty guest room, when the ward on the window activated.

Keeping quiet, Harry entered the other bathroom and undid the spell he had cast on the shaft. Going downstairs would not work. Yes, there would be witnesses, but...

_No innocents. Do not involve them._

A twinge of guilt at the selfish thought. He would have gotten others involved. But at least now they would not. They left the empty room, still disillusioned, seeing someone using another window to enter where Harry knew his room was.

Fight or flight... No. Leave for now. Get attention. Those people were sneaking, obviously not wanting to be caught. Harry went a bit away, knowing they could draw the people out, before thinking. What would be flashy enough to attract attention?

_A patronus?_

Oh, that was a good idea. Perhaps it might help them learn more about himself.

He thought of his time so far, getting to know Margaret and Stacy and learning more... and protecting people...

"_Expecto Patronum,"_ he said softly, surprised when a stag erupted from the end of his wand and galloped towards the pub. Why a stag? Strange. Perhaps one day they would remember.

And perhaps not. What mattered was the present. And right now, the stag was helpful.

Seven people were in the area, illuminated by the patronus. One was a lady with purple hair, another was a tall black wizard and is described as broad shouldered. He was bald, and wore a single gold hoop earring, a third was a man was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with grey. Looking over the group, it was easy to say that none were familiar at all.

Wait, no... one was, thanks to the books and newspapers they had been reading.

Former Auror Alastor Moody.

Surprise for a moment flared within them. Why would someone that detested the dark be breaking and entering with a group into his room?

_Playing both sides?_

That was a possibility. Sneaking up to someone's room at an hour where they should be sleeping... it did shout of something illegal.

But the patronus did what they wanted it to do, which was wake people up. The seven people that had been trying to get into the room had different reactions, but all looked surprised and confused.

"Do _not_ tell me we just got outsmarted by a kid!" The purple-haired woman said.

"Shut up and go!" Moody snapped. They vanished.

Harry smiled and walked back to the pub, the patronus fading.

They were going to be tired the next day. Harry made sure better wards were up before returning to sleep.

Morning approached all too soon, and as predicted, they were tired that day. But it was a quiet day, nobody bothering them, and they had high hopes as they returned to the pub.

Hopes that were dashed when they saw someone about to enter the pub.

_Snape_.

The man seemed to turn at that moment and see Harry standing on the road. But now Harry could see that Snape was not alone. He was with...

_That's Albus Dumbledore._

Harry recognized the other person, like he had recognized Alastor Moody. Could both be playing both sides?

Why would they do that? For the love of power?

Harry turned and ran. They would not drag the people from the pub into this.

"Harry?" He could hear a voice call after them, but he would not turn. No innocents would be brought into this. Hearing Snape curse brought a smile to their lips and they could hear footsteps going after him.

Soon they were in the small clearing where they had woken up at with dementors. Harry cast another disillusionment charm, sure that Dumbledore would be able to detect it, but perhaps it might help for a little bit.

_This will end in a duel._

Harry knew that this would be true. These strangers would not let them be. But a duel did not have to mean death. Dumbledore would not leave a comrade injured. Therefore, sadly, the only way to get out of this without any deaths would be to injure Snape. Dumbledore's skills were legendary, but they had defeated Snape once.

Injure the man again, enough to make Dumbledore worried, and perhaps nobody would have to die.

Great. That was going to be easier said than done. Snape would be wary this time.

_Like a snake. Fast, accurate, silent and as... injury-inducing as possible._

That was a good way to phrase it. Injury-inducing, not a killing blow. It would have been easier to fight to kill, yes, but...

But it wouldn't be right. This fight would be near a town. Someone could wander by accident. The odds of that were slim, yes, but still possible.

Finally, they came into view.

No warning, no wisecracks, nothing, as Harry silently cast a spell.

Snape went flying back, his chest wounded, and Dumbledore turned immediately.

"Get the boy," Snape's voice was clear.

"Severus-"

"_Get the boy!"_

Why did people want them so badly? It was confusing.

_Focus._

Harry gave the briefest of nods, noticing that Snape had begun muttering something and...

And he was _healing_ the wound?

_What heals a sectumsempra that swiftly?_

He didn't have a clue, but Snape obviously did.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, looking around. "We aren't here to hurt you. Please, talk to us. We aren't your enemy. You aren't yourself and we want to help."

Help?

_Where were they for the past two weeks then?_

Good question. Harry tightened his grip on the wand. They had read a lot. They were well-known. How hard could they have been to track?

And talk to them? They weren't that stupid. It would give away their position, speaking.

But how had Dumbledore known they were different? Harry was sure of that much. He kept his eyes on both Snape and Dumbledore, backing away silently. Harry looked around once more and used a silent variation of the sonorus that they knew, that would make it seem like his voice was from everywhere.

"You're with a Death Eater, Dumbledore. That speaks volumes."

The elderly man jumped, and Snape looked all around, his dark eyes wide. "That's..."

"I know," Dumbledore answered, his voice sounding grim. He looked around once more, "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."

_A spy?_

Right.

"If he betrayed one master, then he will betray another." Harry's voice was everywhere once again.

Dumbledore looked steely-eyed, "I am no one's master, Harry."

"Then go away. Leave. I don't want a fight. We don't want anyone else to be hurt."

"See? There he goes again, Headmaster. I keep telling you, arrogant as his father-"

"That's enough Severus."

Harry moved a bit away, noticing that Snape seemed more healed. He didn't know what to do without resorting to an all-out duel, but it seemed as if that were going to be the case.

Until the sound, the high pitched sounds of laughter and what seemed very much like the clicking of insects, and the bright moon was... gone?

How could the moon just go?

Wait... it wasn't gone, something was covering it, a swarm...

_Doxies!_

Where had doxies come from! Being Disillusioned helped a little bit, since the biting fairies went after Snape and Dumbledore, and Harry ran a little bit before hearing the oddest growl...

There was something there, about up to their waist, with five legs, each ending in a clubfoot, and the creature was covered with thick, red-brown hair.

_A quintaped? But they're Ministry regulated and only found on the Isle of Drear!_

The beast, the quintaped, roared and lunged towards them.

_It must rely heavily on smell too. _

The doxies heard the sound and laughed, coming towards them.

"Harry! Are you all right!"

_The enemy of our enemy..._

And right now, these creatures that had come from nowhere were _definitely_ the enemy! "I'm fine, except for the quintaped," Harry called back.

"The _what?_"

Harry would have laughed, but they knew it would not be wise and so instead they got ready to fight.


End file.
